In Your Honour
by acetamide
Summary: Arthur finds himself breaking the laws of Camelot to save Merlin... and gets the law changed. WARNING: Character death and resurrection
1. In Your Honour

This was originally intended as a one-shot, but the response was so great that I was persuaded to continue it. There will be 10 chapters in total.

_In Your Honour_

There's no time to stop him, of course.

Arthur doesn't see the sudden movement of Cador's arm across the Hall, doesn't see the flash of the knife as it hurtles through the air. He sees Merlin though, body nimble-quick and steady as he pushes himself between Prince and dagger.

Merlin's hands are on his shoulders as the knife impacts, whipping across the air and sinking into his back, and his eyes widen ever so slightly. Arthur knows that his own are filled with shock, but Merlin on the other hand makes no show – and for a second, the Prince can't work out what's going on but then he wraps an arm around Merlin's back to support him and feels the hilt sticking out between his ribs.

Only then do Merlin's knees buckle and his eyes squeeze shut, face spasming as the pain kicks in. He would drop like a stone to the cold floor but Arthur's arms are around him, so instead he feels himself being lowered gently onto his side. Arthur has one hand on hi neck and one hand on his back, and he's roaring out orders that Merlin can't quite understand. He just stares at Arthur's leg where the Prince is sat on the floor beside him.

And then Arthur's face is hovering over his, and he looks terrified and affectionate and despairing all at once, and Merlin can't help but smile.

"It's my job to protect you," he whispers, anticipating Arthur's next comment, and his smile fades. "Is it bad?" he asks, his breath catching slightly as another spike of pain shoots up his back and he sees the answer in Arthur's eyes before he's had time to make up a lie.

"I'm sending for Gaius," he replies instead, standing but keeping his foot pressed against Merlin's stomach for reassurance (he's not sure whose). He looks around as he straightens and sees Gwen hurrying toward them, eyes wide with fear.

"Is he going to be OK?" she asks anxiously, and Arthur looks down at the warlock.

"Run to Gaius and tell him what's happened. Bring him here."

Thankfully she doesn't question him, merely nods then gathers her dress in both hands and disappears through the door. Arthur catches Morgana's eye from across the room. She is unreadable.

"You're going to be fine, Merlin," Arthur says soothingly, one hand rubbing gentle circles on his shoulder. "Gaius will be here shortly."

He looks up and realises that the guests are still crowded around, some staring in horror at the blood pooling slowly beneath the warlock, some at the obvious concern that the Prince is showing to his manservant. He's about to say something when Morgana steps in.

"Clear the room," she calls briskly, sweeping through the crowds and physically pushing some of them backward. "Guards, please escort all the guests to their chambers."

"Arrest Cador."

Arthur's tone is cold and unfeeling, and the guards momentarily hesitate but then follow his orders anyway. Cador doesn't resist or complain.

Gaius bursts through the door as Cador is dragged out of the opposite one, eyes worried, and he immediately settles himself on the cold stone floor beside them. Arthur stares at him and knows that he's being a bit intense, but reckons he has a good enough reason. Merlin's shuddering now, and he's stopped talking.

"Tell me he'll be fine, Gaius," Arthur says quietly, holding Merlin in place as the elderly physician inspects the wound. Merlin's face is white and blood is seeping onto the floor beneath him – his breath is coming out in choked sobs and his eyes are pressed shut. He's shaking; so is Arthur.

"He's lost a lot of blood already," Gaius replies, and Arthur's hand moves to Merlin's head, pushing his fingers into the mop of dark hair. Merlin's tremors ease slightly.

"Is there anything that I can do?"

"Just keep talking to him."

"I mean something to help save him," Arthur says shortly, pulling his gaze from Merlin to the physician. He's stopped inspecting the wound and has moved back slightly, away from the young man. Arthur feels his heart clench and dreads what will be said next.

"You can't save him, sire. And neither can I."

Arthur's face falls and he's aware of the people surrounding him, of Uther somewhere standing nearby, but he doesn't care. He leans right down and presses his lips to Merlin's temple, and it's cold and damp beneath him. His eyes squeeze shut and he rests his forehead against the warlock's hair, taking Merlin's face in his hands.

"Stay with me, Merlin," he whispers, and the warlock's eyes open just enough that Arthur can see his irises shining gold and bright and full of warmth. He probably should be scared.

"Keep it secret," the other man whispers, so quietly that he has to lean in to hear him – then Merlin suddenly reaches up and grabs the Prince's wrists, and his eyes are burning bright and uncontrolled. Then there's an immense searing pain in his lower arms as something thunders between them, exiting Merlin and flowing to him, and he's quite sure he can feel sparks between their skin but maybe he's imagining it. The bright light fades from Merlin's eyes and he releases the Prince, eyes closing and pulse slowing and breathing lessening.

"No," Arthur murmurs, his hands still gripping Merlin's face a little too tightly. "_No_."

"It's OK, really," the warlock replies. "I've been ready to die for you before."

"No. I won't _let_ you die for me," he growls in return, moving to grip his manservant's hand with one of his, and he can feel an incredible warmth thrumming through him now, one that he's never experienced before. Merlin smiles, a little sadly, and his whole body relaxes.

"Just be careful, and keep it secret," he whispers, his voice strained and thin, and his eyes slip shut. And Arthur understands, maybe a little too well. His eyes feel as though they're glowing as Gaius moves closer, laying one hand on Merlin's still shoulder.

"I'm sorry, sire," he says slowly, awkwardly, as though it's painful just to admit it. "Merlin is dead."

Arthur shakes his head, lips moving but making no sound as he grips Merlin's hand even tighter. Merlin doesn't squeeze back this time.

"Arthur, come on," Morgana whispers, but he ignores her. He's too busy staring at his manservant, the bloody floor beneath him.

"Sire…"

"Arthur, come _on_."

"Arthur? What are you doing?"

"_Arthur_..."

He stands in a whirl, dropping Merlin's cold hand and glaring at his father, then Gaius, and finally Morgana. He takes a deep breath and then something resolves in his eyes, and he turns back to the physician. He's stopped shaking.

"Gaius, take Merlin to his room, then lock the door. I don't want anybody disturbing him until I get back."

"Arthur, what do you think –"

"Don't question me, Morgana. I'll be back in a few days, Gaius. Thank you."

Uther doesn't say anything as his son walks away from his manservant – he's learnt by now that whatever he says, Arthur will usually ignore when it comes to Merlin. Morgana looks as though she wants to follow him but Gwen's hand on her arm stops the Lady, and instead she just looks at Uther as though waiting for him to do something. He doesn't. The door shut behind the Prince with a thud.

Arthur's face is set, his eyes flashing gold as he strides down the corridor. He doesn't care how he'll do it, but he'll use this new magic if he has to.

He's going to save Merlin.

_In your honour, I would die tonight_

_For you to feel alive_


	2. Embrace the World in Grey

_Embrace The World In Grey_

It takes him two hours to get to the nearest village. It takes him three hours to find a sorceror. It takes him four hours to even start control this burning golden power now residing within him.

If he's honest, Arthur has no idea how Merlin managed to control himself and keep his magic a secret for so long – it's a newfound respect for his manservant that's warring with his disappointment that Merlin didn't confide in him sooner. But there's no time to think about what he's meant to be feeling, no time to turn things over, because if he's not found a way to save Merlin soon then nothing else will matter.

Convincing the sorceror that no, really, he's not here to execute him isn't an easy task. Proving it means that he has to perform magic himself, and even though he knows he shouldn't (he is a Prince, after all) he does it anyway, for Merlin. And then he has to explain exactly why he needs his help.

"I need to save somebody."

The elderly man's eyebrows raise slightly and he takes another sip from his goblet. Arthur has no idea what's in it, and he can't really see anyway – the shack that they're sat in is dirty and dark and damp, but he doesn't complain. He doesn't have time.

"Save somebody?"

"Yes, save somebody," he snaps, because the man's being exceptionally slow and he really, really needs to get this done as soon as possible. "A friend of mine was stabbed. I need to heal him."

"How serious was the wound?"

"Serious."

The man regards him, almost thoughtfully, then stands and makes his way across the poorly-lit room and retrieves a book from the floor, beside what could be classed as a bed. He deposits the book on the table and a cloud of dust whooshes up around them.

"Can you help me, or not?" he asks irritably, and the man gives him a far sharper look that the Prince thought he'd be capable of. His eyes spark with intelligence.

"You've come to me for aid, sire," he says clearly, traces of the dim-witted geriatric from just moments ago vanished. "I can help you, yes. But you must be patient."

"My friend needs saving now."

"They stumble, those that run too fast," he shoots back, flicking through the pages. "If you're to control your gifts, you need to be calm."

"But how can I be calm when Merlin needs me?" Arthur bites, his voice raising, and the man stops at a page near the end.

"If you're not calm, you'll never save him. It's quite simple. Here's what you're looking for."

Arthur's frown fades and he pulls the book towards himself. He doesn't understand anything. Merlin will stay dead at this rate, he's quite sure of it, and he feels a black pain begin to well up inside his stomach. He pauses, pushes away the feeling, and looks up at the man. The sorceror's face is unreadable.

"Help me. Please."

**

Arthur rides back to the castle nearly twelve hours after setting out, his stallion spurred on by magic, his hooves sparking gold where they hit the cobbles as they canter up across the courtyard. Guards rush out to him, no doubt sent by Uther, but they never reach him. The old man prepared him for every eventuality.

He dismounts and leaves him horse – somebody will take him away – and sprints to Gaius' chambers. He didn't bother to put on any armour before he left, he didn't have time, so he's unhindered as he hurries down the various corridors. He passes guards and servants and ignores them all.

He doesn't knock when he reaches Gaius' chambers and the old man jumps up as the Prince enters, pestle in one hand an a sheaf of herbs in the other.

"Sire, what are you doing?" he asks quickly, following the young man as he walks straight up to the door and raises one hand, uttering no incantation as he unlocks the door. He thinks he hears Gaius gasp behind him, but carries on anyway.

Merlin is, thankfully, lying on his bed. He could just be ill, Arthur thinks, with his hair stuck to his forehead still with cold sweat and the colour all drained from his face. But the blood that's seeped into the bedclothes tell a different story.

"Arthur, please."

Arthur pauses then and looks at the physician, and he can see that he's been crying at some point since he's been gone. His eyes look dead. He thinks his probably look the same.

"You knew about Merlin's magic, didn't you?" he asks, but it's not an accusation, and Gaius seems to realise this. He nods slowly, and takes a few more steps into the room.

"I told him to be careful, and not tell anyone."

"And he did that admirably. But when he was dying, he… passed it on to me. I have his magic now."

"All of it?"

"I don't know."

And Gaius doesn't seem to really know what to say to that, but he clearly knows what Arthur's about to do next because he doesn't ask anything else as the Prince crosses the room and settles on the bed beside Merlin's hip. He reaches and takes the warlock's face in his hands again, just like he did less than a day ago, and closes his eyes. He's calm now. He knows the incantation, knows what he has to do. The village sorceror made him practise for hours before he'd allow him to leave.

He wipes his mind empty all everything but one.

"_Ic i ágíeme, ic i ábire áncorlíf ond __bróðorlufe_."

Nothing.

"_Ic i ágíeme, ic i ábire áncorlíf ond __bróðorlufe_."

The sorceror had said that it could take a while, but even so Arthur feels a pang of uneasiness as the spell fails again. So he repeats it.

And he repeats it again.

And again.

And he keeps on whispering the same words over and over until there's nothing left but the incantation and his hands on Merlin, gripping him as though he can physically raise him – there's no light, no sound, no Gaius. Just the sudden flow of magic as something finally clicks, appearing before his eyes as a golden light emanating from his hands though he knows he's the only one that can see it.

He might have heard Merlin gasp, or it could have been Gaius, or maybe even himself – but the next thing he knows, he's staring down into Merlin's open eyes, and the warlock looks so overwhelmed that he's not entirely sure what to say. It turns out he doesn't have to. He's drained himself.

He collapses over Merlin, just as he hears the warlock say his name.

_Sometimes beginnings aren't so simple  
Sometimes goodbye's the only way_


	3. Show Me an Answer

_Show Me An Answer_

Arthur wakes to warmth and comfort, and really doesn't want to open his eyes. But his head's throbbing and the light streaming into the room is just a little too bright, and he knows that he's going to have to move at some point. Where is he, anyway? This doesn't feel like his bed.

He cracks his eyes open against his own better judgement and just stares up at the stone ceiling for a minute or too, taking stock of his body – there's a low ache in his joints but other than that he's apparently fine. But he has no idea _why_ his bones are aching.

Then he looks to his right and sees Merlin stretched out on a small, makeshift bed down on the floor beside him. His chest is rising and falling gently, and it's only after watching him sleep for a few moments that Arthur remembers exactly what happened the previous day.

In a flurry of movement he's off the bed and kneeling beside Merlin, grabbing him and turning him over onto his stomach, ignoring the warlock's sleepy protests as he's roughly woken.

"I just need… I need to…" Arthur murmurs urgently, hands awkward and scrabbling at Merlin's tunic and eventually managing to yank it upwards. He reaches out a hand and touches the smooth, unmarked skin, and feels his whole body relax.

"Are you done?" Merlin asks, his face presses into the blankets, and Arthur lets go of him abruptly, frowning.

"What on earth are you doing on the floor? You died yesterday. Get on the bed and get some rest."

"You sort of passed out on me yesterday, I didn't have a choice in the matter," Merlin points out even as he slowly gets to his feet, and Arthur's hands are there supporting him. "And I feel fine, really. Just a bit stiff and achy, really. Pretty good, considering."

"Good. That's good," Arthur nods, helping his manservant onto the bed despite his own weariness, and sits down beside him. He's not sure what to say, how to broach the topic of the magical transfer, so he says nothing. He's beginning to think that perhaps Merlin's lost for words too, but then the silence is finally broken. The Prince misses it immediately.

"Arthur, you saved my life. Again."

And what is he supposed to say to that?

"You saved mine first."

"This is getting to be a habit for us, isn't it?"

Merlin smiles then, a small smile that fades quickly.

"How did you do it, Arthur? I was dead. As in, completely dead," he asks quietly, and for a minute the Prince doesn't respond, just listens to the birds singing outside. He's trying to work out exactly how to explain it because he's not entirely sure himself – there had been such an immense sense of urgency that he'd not been thinking about what he'd been doing. He just knew that he needed to save Merlin.

"When you… when you _died_, you… you gave me your magic," he hesitates, then ploughs on. "I found a sorcerer that could help me, found a spell. I saved you with magic."

Merlin's hands are shaking now, his face slightly white, and Arthur feels a spike of concern begin to work its way into his chest.

"Are you feeling all right? Is it your back?" he asks, reaching up to the warlock, but the other man backs away. His eyes are wide and fearful.

"You know? About me being a sorcerer?" he replies, his voice stilted slightly, and Arthur's hands drop, and he nods slowly.

"I couldn't really ignore it for much longer."

"You mean you knew?"

"I had my suspicions."

"But you didn't say anything!"

"I didn't want you executed."

Merlin doesn't really respond to that, just stares down at where he's twisting the blankets in his hand, and Arthur feels a wave of relief and confusion wash through him that he doesn't understand at all.

"I'm not going to hand you over, Merlin," he says quietly, raising a hand then pulling it back in. He's not sure what he was about to do, but the other man is staring at him now. "I promise. Besides, I'm in the same boat as you now."

"But what if you took all my magic? What if I can't use it any more?" he protests, and Arthur shrugs. "What if you're the one stuck with it now, and you have to face the consequences?"

The corners of Arthur's mouth twitch at that – even in this distraught state, Merlin's still putting him first. He realises that if he thinks about it, his manservant always has. And also that though Merlin may have been having trouble hiding his magic, he would also be completely lost without it.

"Try something," he says simply, turning his head as he hears movement behind the door, then he looks back at the warlock.

And then Merlin's eyes flash golden and bright, and the floorboards creak upwards and a book sails from beneath them to land on directly in the warlock's hands. His lips quirk.

"I guess when you used my magic on me, some of it transferred back," he surmises, running his hands over the cover, and looks up to Arthur. "And you can still do magic."

"Yes, I can."

"Is it as bad as you thought?"

Arthur can't help but smile at that, because no, it really isn't. He saved a man's life with it – surely, that could never be classed as a bad thing. His father told him that to know the heart of one sorcerer was to know them all. He knows Merlin's heart.

"You can teach me how to use it, if you want," he suggests, and Merlin's face contorts as he tries to look delighted and horrified at the same time. It's almost endearing, and Arthur nearly wants to touch him.

"Magic is forbidden, Arthur," his manservant reminds him, but he just shrugs.

"I don't think I'm going to be getting rid of it any time soon. This thing, whatever it is… it's not going away."

"I know."

"So I might as well use it."

Merlin hesitates then, and Arthur realises that at some point the warlock's fingers have stopped twisting in the bed sheets and are now twisting in his own. He's not sure how he missed that happening.

"What will your father say?"

Arthur shrugs, pulls his hand from Merlin's grip, and hauls himself to his feet. His eyes are sparkling and there's a small smile playing across his face, and he's more content than he's been in a long while. It feels good.

"Let's go find out, shall we?"

_With no bones to break I can be who I am_

_Cause you know me better than anyone_


	4. Anybody Brave Enough to Take a Stand

_Anybody Brave Enough to Take a Stand_

Arthur pauses for a beat just to look at Merlin's face before he pushes open the doors to the Hall, where he knows Uther will be dining with Morgana, and the fear playing over the warlock's face makes him stop. He'd watched him hang back as they'd eventually left his bedroom and confronted Gaius, felt him stick so close behind the Prince as they strode down the corridors that they kept tripping over each other, and heard him draw a breath as they passed the first lot of guards.

He'd been scared then – now he's terrified. And Arthur can feel a sense of panic building up inside himself and pushes it back down, unsure of its origins, because he now has no need to fear his father.

"It'll be OK, Merlin," he says quietly, one hand on the door. "I won't let him hurt you."

"It's not me that I'm worried about," the warlock shoots back in a whisper, eyes darting all around himself, coming to rest eventually on the Prince when he doesn't get a response. His eyes harden. "I don't know what Uther will do to you when he finds out what you are. I don't know if I can protect you from your father _and_ the guards."

And Arthur smiles then, marvels at Merlin's insistence on always putting him first, and wonders how he deserves this level of devotion from someone that he barely knows. He decides that this is something that he might have to get used to when he's King.

"Merlin, listen. We both have magic. In that room there will be my father, Morgana, and perhaps a handful of guards. If they try anything, we're more than a match for them, all right? Together, we'll be fine. But I need you to stay calm."

At some point, he's moved so that he's facing Merlin with his hands gripping the warlock's shoulders – he's not sure how he managed it without noticing, but it feels right, so he doesn't move.

"If you're sure…" Merlin murmurs, still sounding wary but accepting. Arthur nods, the dread that was rising now falling away, though he doesn't know where it came from in the first place.

"Let's get on with it then."

He lets go of Merlin and pushes the heavy doors open with both hands, striding straight into the room and he can feel Merlin right behind him. Uther is sat at the head of the table and beside him is Morgana, and she drops her knife as they walk in.

"But you're dead!" she blurts out then her hand flies to her mouth as Uther stands, his face darkening.

"What is this sorcery?" he growls, and the guards instinctively move towards them. Arthur stays them with a look, and earns himself a glare from the King.

"Arthur, how is this possible?" Morgana asks from where she's sat, her voice urgent, and he can't help but smirk at her – but he doesn't respond, because Uther gets in before him.

"This is clearly magic of the darkest sort!" he exclaims, pushing his chair away, and Arthur senses Merlin take a step back behind him. He reaches out and snags his hand in his manservant's tunic, keeping him close. "This is necromancy! Arthur, was it Nimueh? Tell me!"

"That's what I came to speak to you about, father," Arthur says converstionally, settling himself into his chair. Merlin sits next to him, and the Prince feels a spike of trepidation that he doesn't understand flicker through himself. "If you would care to sit?"

"What, exactly, did you come to tell me?" Uther replies, but sits anyway, and his tone is icy and already disapproving before he's even explained himself. Then he realises that he's not entirely sure how to explain it, just like with Merlin – but this time, he resorts to more practical methods.

His eyes flash gold and the goblet that Uther's holding is wrenched from his hand and soars over Morgana, whose own eyes are wide, rushing through the air to slam into Arthur's open hand. A few drops of wine spill over and drip down his fingers.

Uther's on his feet again and drawing his sword and Merlin's stood with his hand outstretched and ready and Arthur just sits there calmly, eyes fixed on his father, completely aware of Merlin behind him. Morgana's still not moved.

"Explain yourself," Uther hisses, sword wobbling slightly, and Arthur can feel Merlin's left hand resting gently on his shoulder. He drinks from the goblet and Uther's eyes narrow.

"When Merlin died, his power was transferred to me. When I brought him back to life, a portion was transferred back."

"You meant to tell me that your manservant has been a sorcerer all along?" the King spits and he takes a step forward, sword glinting.

He gets no further. Merlin has taken a step back and lowered his hand and there's that fear again, rippling under Arthur's skin, but he ignores him because the hand that's not holding the goblet is raised and keeping Uther away.

"Don't touch him," he says, a warning tone hiding just underneath his voice, and when Uther backs off he lowers his hand and his eyes fade back to blue. "And yes – he's been saving both me and Camelot since he arrived here."

"He's been corrupting you."

"He's been _protecting_ me."

"I will not listen to this! Morgana, did you know of this?" the King snarls, lowering his sword and sheathing it, and Arthur looks over at Morgana. At least she doesn't look as shocked now, but she has that look about her – the one that passes over her face just before he insults her as they dance.

"Merlin being a sorcerer has crossed my mind once or twice before," she replies slowly, staring at Arthur, and he can't quite decipher the look in her eyes. "But… the times that made me suspicious were always when miracles happened."

"I beg your pardon?"

"When Lady Helene tried to kill Arthur, the beast in the water supply, the griffin, when you yourself fell ill? He's been protecting Arthur all this time."

Uther falls silent for a brief moment before looking up. His eyes are hard.

"Merlin is a sorcerer, and all magic is ultimately evil. We have a punishment for such crimes here in Camelot, and it will be served to him."

"It will not!" Arthur replies hotly, standing at last and facing his father.

"He will suffer the consequence of practising magic!"

"Then you'll need to be executing me as well."

And there – _finally_ – he's shocked his father into silence. But then, hearing your son telling you to kill him would probably startle anybody. Arthur can feel a sense of triumph welling up within him and hears Merlin make a surprised noise behind him.

"You are no sorcerer," Uther hisses, and Morgana's even paler than usual and being far too quiet. "You are not going to be punished."

"I can do magic just the same as Merlin can," Arthur points out, and Merlin lays a hand on his shoulder. He sees Uther's eyes flick up to the point of contact but the King says nothing.

"Arthur, think about what you're saying," Morgana pleads, glancing at the guards, and Arthur can tell that they don't know what to do. They're torn between arresting the sorcerer and arresting the Prince.

"Arthur, be sensible," Uther says quietly, stepping around the table, and there may even be a hint of concern floating just under there. Arthur shakes his head and takes a step back, turning away and walking towards the door. Merlin is right beside him.

"It's a part of me, father," Arthur replies softly, pausing only to look back over his shoulder at the King. Uther is gripping his sword with one hand, and anyone else wouldn't notice it. "Don't make me an exception to the rule."

"I cannot execute you," Uther snaps in return, but despite his tone there's an underlying feeling of desperation. He is his father, after all. Arthur shrugs.

"Then change the law."

Neither Uther nor Morgana say anything more as they leave, and though he's glad, he knows that he'll have Morgana descend upon him soon with all her fury – but right now, he and Merlin are both fine, and he's happy enough with that.

"What's he going to do?" Merlin whispers, eyes wide and staring at the floor, and Arthur aches for the idiotic grin to return. This isn't how Merlin is supposed to be. He takes the warlock gently by the elbow and guides him down the corridor, towards Gaius' chambers.

"Don't worry, Merlin. I know what my father will choose," he says, trying to reassure his manservant. His fingers brush Merlin's as they walk side by side and there's a flood of warmth from the contact, magic spreading across their skin.

Arthur hopes that he's right.

_Shining like a diamond, rolling with the dice,  
Standing on the ledge I'll show the wind how to fly_


	5. This Could Take Us Anywhere

_This Could Take Us Anywhere_

They're sitting in Gaius' chambers when it happens.

It's been two days since Arthur's confrontation with Uther and they've spent the time hiding away, door magically locked and refusing entry to anybody bar Gwen, Morgana and Gaius himself.

If he's quite honest, Arthur was pleasantly surprised by Morgana's reaction – he'd been preparing for her to descend upon both of them and was quite ready to use force to keep her away from Merlin. But instead she had just sat down and talked to them, no disgust or hatred in her eyes, viewing them all as complete equals, and Arthur remembered why he loved her. When Gwen had arrived a few hours later all she did was walk straight up to Merlin and thank him, very seriously, for saving her father's life.

Gaius, for his part, had stayed very quiet about it all. Arthur had been wary of him – and quite understandably – but when Merlin pointed out that the physician had in fact kept the magic secret for a good while beforehand, Arthur relented, and realised that he was safe here.

Merlin had been trying to teach him some spells when the guards come, shouting and banging on the enforced door more insistently than previously. Their words are muffled through the door so Merlin's eyes flicker and the soldiers flood through into the room, and they freeze at the sight of the two young men sat at the table, magic book set out before them.

"You have a message for me?" Arthur asks, a little brusquely, when they make no move to speak to him or arrest him. They continue to stare at them both, and there's a ripple of amusement then, and one of them plucks up the courage to step forward.

"The King requests your presence in the courtyard. He is making an announcement."

Arthur feels his eyes widen and he turns to Merlin, who's wearing an identical expression.

"I guess we'd better attend then," the warlock suggests, shrugging, and he stands up. The guards shuffle backward. "You coming?"

**

They meet Gwen and Morgana halfway and accompanied by Gaius, hurry down to the courtyard where high above, Uther is dressed formally and already talking to the gathered crowds. They huddle in one corner, Merlin edging away from the soldiers and closer to Arthur.

"As you all know, magic is forbidden in my kingdom, and most of you know the reasons. In my experience, sorcery of any kind leads to pain and death, and no good will ever come of it."

Arthur glances around, and notices that Morgana's face is drawn and Gwen's hand is resting on her arm. Merlin is anxious beside him, and the Prince realises that Gaius is staring at Merlin too. He looks away and back at his father.

"My dislike of hatred is well-known, and I have good reasons for it – but recently, something has happened that has forced me to re-evaluate my position. In light of recent events, it has become clear to me that some changes need to be made."

And now Arthur's holding his breath, and he knows that Merlin is too, because they're so close that he'd be able to hear if he wasn't.

"I, Uther Pendragon, abolish the law banning the use of magic in Camelot."

And his father's voice is taut and reluctant and laced with disgust, but it doesn't matter, because he's said that words and now they're free. The crowd below don't seem sure how to react – half of them are rejoicing inside, but the other half have a fear of magic ingrained so deep that they're terrified, so the mass of people contents themselves with just muttering then dispersing.

Arthur feels a well of magic within him as he watches the people leave and turns to see Merlin holding a ball of glimmering light, and instantly recognises. He smiles, and Merlin smiles back, and then Arthur replicates the light. He's never felt so complete.

"Thank you," he says quietly, leaning towards Merlin, and then he's pulled back around again as his arm is grabbed unceremoniously.

"That's incredible!" Gwen exclaims, staring at the gently thrumming light, and her face is open and full of wonder. She has little to fear now. None of them do, he realises.

Arthur grabs Morgana and presses a celebratory kiss to her cheek, then Gwen, then Gaius, then Merlin but he misses slightly in his excitement and it's more of a meeting of lips than anything else, but it's so brief and he's so ecstatic that he doesn't care despite the shock and embarrassment spiking through him. The ban has been lifted. Merlin is safe.

"I believe congratulations are in order, sire," Gaius murmurs, head lowered ever so slightly. "And thanks, also."

Arthur looks at him, and the mild confusion quickly clears as he realises what the physician is implying. He nods slowly, and reaches for Merlin without looking. The warlock comes straight to him, and still Arthur can't shake this euphoric feeling that's threatening to engulf him.

"We can do magic!" the warlock exclaims, striding out past Arthur and into the centre of the courtyard, arms partially raised. "We can do _magic_!"

As he says it, there's that familiar pull of something inside Arthur as sparks of light flash out of Merlin's hand, all the colours that he can even think of, becoming embers that hurtle into the air and wrap around each other, blue and red spiralling into the sun, and whilst people stop and stare at him, nobody even attempts to arrest him. They never will, now.

Arthur goes to join him as the young man turns on the spot, face so filled with joy and _this_ is how Merlin's meant to be, not the scared, withdrawn boy that had been hanging listlessly around Gaius' chambers recently. Merlin will always be magic.

He reaches him, but his back is to him so he reaches, and Merlin seems to sense he's there and turns. His eyes are bright and Arthur thinks that his probably are, too, as the warlock grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him into a warm embrace, and he can _feel_ the magic within him reacting to Merlin's presence. This is what home feels like.

Maybe, they can make this work. They're certainly going to try.

_It's time to make a move and we both know_

_It's time to step it up a notch, I'm ready to lose touch_


	6. Turn To Me Like I Turn To You

_turn to me like I turn to you_

Magic, as it turns out, is harder to master than Arthur had thought.

Whilst the old sorcerer from the nearby village had taught him exactly how to save Merlin and repel the guards, unlock the door – he hadn't explained how to truly control the power now simmering inside him, how to pull it out and use it as and when he needed it. And now, with the law banning magic gone, it was something that he'd have to get used to.

So he'd spent all of five minutes persuading Merlin to teach him how to use magic, and really the manservant was pretty easy to persuade, though he tended to put up an admirable fight for a short while. But once he had agreed, he had thrown himself into it quite wholeheartedly (though he did insist that they practice in Gaius' chambers). He even had a book.

Arthur sits at Gaius' table whilst the elderly physician brews concoctions on the other side of the room, the occasional faint bang punctuated by fizzing and the whispers of the more infrequent spells. Every now and then, Merlin pauses in his instructions to ask the older man a question, and Arthur remembers that they've been comfortable with each other's magic for a while now. It's still something that he needs to get used to.

"No, no, you're pronouncing it wrong, it's _áflíeh_."

Arthur blinks, and stares at the apple where it sits resolutely on the table. He frowns.

"That's what I was saying."

"No you weren't, you were saying _áflíah_. Which is something completely different. Try again."

"But I was saying it right, and nothing was happening!"

"No, you weren't," Merlin repeats patiently, and Arthur knows that he's a terrible student but the last few days haven't been particularly successful and he's beginning to get annoyed with himself. He could do magic before, but now he can't? He can't even manage a simple levitating spell.

"Well, I think that's enough practice for today," he decides shortly and swipes the apple from the table with his hand, biting into it. Merlin's eyes narrow, and he whispers something too quietly for the Prince to hear but he can pretty much guess, because the apple is wrenched from his hand and soars across the table to land in front of Merlin. The warlock picks it up and takes a bite himself, glaring at Arthur.

"You were the one that wanted me to train you, so don't just give in and walk off whenever you feel like it!" he grumbles, glowering over the fruit, and Arthur scowls back just as fiercely. He thinks he hears Gaius mutter something at them as he passes them on his way out, but he ignores him.

And then Merlin tilts his head to the side slightly and his eyes slip out of focus, and Arthur feels a flush spreading up his own cheeks because he knows exactly what Merlin is doing – he's utilising his magic, in the way that Arthur can't, and it searching down the strange bond that they've forged between themselves to see what the Prince is feeling. To try and understand why he's behaving like this.

"You're invading my privacy," he hisses, and Merlin's eyes focus again as he shakes his head.

"You're annoyed with yourself. It's understandable," he replies slowly, and shrugs. "Magic doesn't come naturally to you; it's something that you have to work at. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Don't presume to know what I'm feeling," he snarls and stands abruptly, knocking a goblet of water to the floor, and makes for the door.

"Arthur!" Merlin bites out, standing and grabbing the Prince's hand as he tries to stalk past him and there's a spark of magic between their skin, but they're used to it now and ignore it, though he knows that Merlin's searching his emotions again. He doesn't stop him.

"Get off me, Merlin," he says, his voice low, but he can feel Merlin's resolve building even as his own wavers.

"You've never _not_ been good at something before. You've always succeeded, no matter what it is – you're the best swordsman, best hunter, best everything. You're not used to failing at something."

"Shut up," Arthur whispers, and he can feel his voice cracking even as he says it and hates himself for it. Merlin doesn't obey him. He never has.

"Well, it doesn't _matter_ if you don't get it first time. Most people don't manage things straight away but they keep trying anyway. I mean, look at me!" he exclaims, and Arthur does, though it was only figurative. Merlin's still holding onto his hand, keeping him grounded here. "I was a pretty useless manservant when I first started, wasn't I? But I kept at it. I stayed with you, and I reckon I'm getting pretty good at it to be honest."

And of course Arthur agrees, but he's not going to say it.

"But magic… you don't even have to _think_. You just do it," he murmurs, his shoulders drooping as he turns back to the table. Merlin lets go of his hand, and his lips quirk up slightly.

"You honestly think that?" he asks, and Arthur can feel the undercurrent of amusement coming from the other man. He sits back down, prepared to hear this out. "The night before your fight with Valiant, when the snakes came out of his shield? I spent nearly eight hours that night repeating the same spell over and over, trying to bring a stone dog to life, and it failed every time. And I don't know what made it work in the end – I honestly have no idea – but something clicked, and I got to you in time. And when Lancelot killed the griffin? It took me a long time to get that spell to work too."

"What are you trying to say?" Arthur asks him, staring at this admission that Merlin spent all night trying desperately to save him (but hadn't he known that already, deep in his consciousness?) and the warlock shrugs.

"I'm saying that I was born magical, and I still have trouble with it sometimes. Nobody's expecting you to get this straight away, Arthur. It's not something that you've had to ever do before. Your expectations of yourself are too high – you're doing really well. You should be proud of yourself."

"But I can't even move an apple!" he bursts out, and there's a hint of a smile on Merlin's face as he sets the half-eaten apple back on the table and moves to stand behind Arthur.

"Try it again. Just once more, and if you can't get it, we'll stop for today," he offers, and Arthur decides that it's a pretty good deal really. He sighs and leans forward, eyes fixed on the fruit.

"_Áflíeh_."

"Again."

"You said only once more."

"I said again."

Arthur wonders vaguely how it came to this, that Merlin can give him an order and more often than not now he follows it, usually without questioning. He closes his eyes briefly, feels Merlin's hands settle on his shoulders, and when he opens them again they're shining.

"_Áflíeh_."

And finally – _finally – _the apple rises slowly into the air, wobbling and juddering, but it's rising nonetheless. He feels a burst of pride from Merlin and knows that warlock will be feeling exactly from same from himself.

"I told you so," he says, and Arthur knows that he's grinning though he can't see him. And the grin might just be a little cheeky, so he reaches a hand over his own head to whack Merlin in the stomach and the warlock laughs, hands slipping off his shoulders as he steps away and the apple drops back to the table.

"Don't be such a know-it-all, Merlin," he says disapprovingly, and stands. "We wouldn't want your delusions of grandeur to give you ideas above your station, would we?"

"Of course, I am just a lowly manservant," Merlin shoots back, a mocking tone to his voice, and something occurs to Arthur. A possibility. He regards Merlin for possibly a second too long then stores his idea away for further consideration later on in the evening.

"Same time tomorrow then?" he asks as he manoeuvres his way around Gaius' tables and equipment towards the door, and Merlin nods, following him.

"What do you need doing tonight?" he asks, and Arthur considers the question before turning back to him.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing that I can't do myself."

And Merlin really does look at him then with something crossed between incredulity and gratitude, because in between teaching Arthur and assisting Gaius he's also had to keep his jobs as a manservant and act as an advisor to the people on all things magical, and he's looking slightly more tired than normal. Arthur realises that now, this may seem like a favour, but it's a prelude to something more.

"Get some sleep. I'll be fine by myself."

Merlin doesn't really seem to know what to say to that – but Arthur can feel the other man's eyes burning into him as he leaves, shutting the door quietly. He takes a moment in the corridor to compose himself, then sets off towards his own chambers.

In the morning, he's going to have a talk with Uther.

_Where would I be? What would I do?  
If you'd never helped me through_


	7. The One That Sets My Shadow Free

_The One That Sets My Shadow Free_

Arthur is surprised at just how well his talk with Uther goes.

Of course, Uther is so against the idea to begin with that his eyes are in danger of popping out, once he's stopped laughing and realised that his son is being completely serious. Then he comes up with a hundred and one reasons why it would be a bad idea, most of which Arthur agrees with but doesn't say so. Then he pulls the 'because I'm King and I said so' card, and Arthur is so unimpressed that Uther doesn't pursue that avenue.

Then he pleads with Arthur not to follow this through, and it's the only time that the Prince almost considers withdrawing his appeal.

He asks his father again, with no pretence.

Uther concedes.

**

"Merlin?"

"Up here!"

Arthur passes Gaius and goes straight up to Merlin's room, where he frowns at the mess on the floor before looking at the warlock.

"Good book?"

"Fascinating."

Merlin puts down the magic book and swings his legs over the edge of his bed, making room for Arthur as he crosses the room.

"I have a proposition for you," he begins, deciding not to beat about the bush, and there's just a hint of trepidation in Merlin's eyes at the statement.

"A proposition?"

"Of promotion."

And yet again, he's managed to silence Merlin. He ought to try startling him more often, if just for the look on his face and the shock that thunders through their magic.

"Promotion? To what?"

"Court Sorcerer, as it were. Something that will mean you can use your abilities to help people, prove to my father that he was right to lift the ban on magic."

"A ban that was only lifted two weeks ago," Merlin remind him, and he shrugs.

"I've already checked with him, and he didn't like the idea at first but he's agreed. If you agree, that is. You'll not be my manservant any more – you'll be closer to my equal. Not quite on the same level though. Of course. That wouldn't be on."

Merlin casts him an amused glance, then his face suddenly lights up.

"So I don't have to clean your ceremonial clothes any more? At all?" he asks, and there's just a little bit too much relief in that comment. Arthur scowls.

"They're not that dirty. But no, you won't."

"And I'll get my own chambers?"

"Unless you want to stay here, of course."

Merlin seems to consider this possibility, and looks through the open door at Gaius, whose head is engulfed in brightly-coloured fumes. There's a distinct smell of burning wafting through up the stairs towards them.

"You'll be a much higher member of the court. You'll not be expected to attend on anyone but the King, and only when he requests it. You'll be an advisor, of sorts."

Merlin frowns, and Arthur feels a shiver of anxiety rise in the warlock.

"But… surely, there are people better suited to it, people who deserve it more?" he points out, and it's the sort of self-depreciating comment that Arthur never expects to hear from Merlin. But then he realises that the other man is talking about Gaius, who's been serving the royal family for so long and has only just been made a free man, and he takes hold of Merlin's wrist.

"You _do_ deserve it. You're probably the most powerful sorcerer in the country. Gaius is happy as he is; he'll be happy for you. I promise."

"You're sure?"

"I'm quite sure. Go tell him, ask him."

Merlin stands and the bed bounces slightly, and Arthur is forced to let go of him, magic sparking between them as they break contact. The warlock gets halfway to the door, nearly tripping over a pile of clothes, before turning back to Arthur. He's barely restraining a smile.

"If Gaius doesn't mind… I'd love to be your advisor. I really would."

Arthur feels his own face break into a grin as his friend descends the steps, and begins making plans in his mind. He knows what Gaius will say.

**

The promotion a week later isn't a showy affair, but it's still a formal occasion, so Morgana enters the room dressed in a deep blue robe that she'll surely catch a chill in and Gwen lingers at the back with a smile so wide it could light up the whole room, and Gaius is there as a guest of honour. And when Merlin finally enters with Arthur the buzz of conversation immediately dies because both young men are _glowing_.

It's a figurative glowing, though Merlin's eyes could be gold at that moment. Arthur had tried to persuade the warlock that he had to wear his ceremonial robes again but stopped when he realised that Merlin could sense that he was lying through their shared magic, and instead admitted that he could wear whatever he wanted. And Merlin had glanced down at his own clothes but before he could say anything, Arthur had whipped out the magic book and within five minutes the warlock was dressed in clothes befitting a court advisor.

Arthur burnt the old clothes personally.

He himself has pulled out his best, most formal garments – besides his coronation ones, of course – and he can feel the gazes of the gathered people upon them, almost as heavy as his crown. He doesn't care. This was what Merlin deserved. This is what they _both_ deserve.

He stays firmly by Merlin's side throughout the ceremony, never more than two metres away despite his father's disapproving looks and even if he were on the other side of the castle he'd be able to feel the joy and relief and gratitude rolling off Merlin in waves. He hopes that Merlin can feel his own pride. Neither of them have ever been very good at hiding their emotions from each other.

**

Merlin's chambers are right next to Arthur's. This comes as a surprise to nobody.

Gwen helps them move his belongings, and Arthur thinks that he sees something resembling jealousy lurking in the handmaid's eyes as she takes in the new room, but then he checks once more and discovers that she's happy for Merlin. And he's glad, because his advisor needs friends like her.

Uther startles everybody by granting Merlin a grace period of three days to settle into his new chambers and sort himself out before beginning his official duties (a list of which he had provided) and all in all, the King seems to have rather come around to the idea. He's certainly being more enthusiastic about it than most other things, though Arthur reflects that this isn't a particularly good indicator.

"I guess this means you'll be getting a new manservant then?" Merlin asks, almost nonchalantly, as they sit at Arthur's table eating dinner. They were out riding and the food should have gone cold three hours ago. Arthur showed off when they got home and felt a burst of pleasure and amusement from Merlin.

"For what?" he asks, reaching for his goblet, and Merlin shrugs.

"Well, everything that I used to do. Or are you expecting me to continue with my original duties alongside those as Advisor?"

"Of course I'm not, you idiot," Arthur snaps, setting his goblet back down and fixing Merlin with a glare. "I wouldn't presume you to do that. But I'm not being too hasty about replacing you; I'd only just got you trained."

Merlin successfully diffuses the strained atmosphere by laughing, warm and golden, and Arthur can feel the corners of his mouth quirking upward. He's missed this sound.

"As if anybody else could be as hard to train as me!" Merlin scoffs, and Arthur nods in agreement.

"You were terrible. Let's hope you make a better Advisor."

"I don't think I could be any worse at it."

Arthur chuckles and looks down briefly, hesitating for just a second before continuing. He can discuss this now that Merlin has eased the conversation.

"There's a banquet for the mid-winter solstice in three weeks. I want you to attend as Advisor."

"Does that mean I get to sit at the table?"

There may be a sneer creeping onto Arthur's face, but it's an amused sneer, and he knows that Merlin knows this.

"Yes, you will, on my left side. You're not a servant any more, Merlin. You do have some privileges."

"Brilliant!" he exclaims, his wide grin looking slightly out of place now that he's dressed halfway between a servant and a nobleman, but it's Merlin and he's always been out of place. "Hang on though, you want me to? Is Uther not OK with this?"

"He'll be OK with it."

Merlin just looks at him, then nods slowly. He's content.

"And you're telling me this early because…?"

"Because I have only three weeks to teach you how to behave at the dinner table. These are high-ranking people coming to this banquet, and I'll not have you embarrass me in front of them. Some of them will even bring daughters in hope of me wanting to marry them."

There's a flash of something then, in Merlin's eyes and in his feelings but it's gone before Arthur can put his finger on it.

"So you're to make me presentable, it is?" he asks, almost cheekily, and Arthur nearly reprimands him. But he's not his manservant any more. He's his Advisor, his friend.

"I'm to make you acceptable to the public. Your training begins tomorrow."

"You make it sound like it's going to be dangerous."

Merlin seems to realise what he can feel coming from Arthur as soon as he's spoken, and his face falls. Arthur just smiles, a glinting smile.

He's going to enjoy this.

_Reap reward and clear our sins  
This is where our life begins_


	8. Try and Make Yourself

_Try And Make Yourself_

Arthur would never have though that teaching someone how to behave in front of nobility was such an arduous task, but then it's Merlin, so he shouldn't really be that surprised. But even so, surely it can't be that difficult? It's hardly as though there's much thinking involved.

They have one week left before the winter solstice, one week before the largest banquet that Camelot hosts all year, and Merlin is still getting it wrong.

Morgana and Gwen drop by regularly to help with how he's meant to address the lords and ladies that will be sat nearby him and they're making headway, Arthur must admit, but Merlin still tends to put his foot in it somewhat. It's not that's he doing it wrong, per say, but more that he's not doing it _right_ – he forgets the correct term of address and when to use it, forgets where everybody is from though he's been told countless times.

But this is to Merlin as magic is to Arthur – something that he's never encountered before, not really, and he's been thrown in at the deep end. He's struggling, and every now and then Arthur can feel the warlock's frustration as he's quizzed and gets the answer wrong.

"I don't see why I need to undergo all this training anyway," he grumbles, inspecting one of the knives set out before him. There are five of them. "I mean, why can't I just be myself?"

"Because you're going to be in the company of some of the most powerful people in the kingdom, not to mention there's only going to one person between yourself and the King. You need to make a good impression," Arthur replies, in a patient tone that belies the number of times he's already had to explain this. He nearly has the answer memorised. "And since the person sat between you and my father is going to be me, I don't want to get caught in the crossfire when you inevitably mess everything up."

"I won't make a mess of this!" Merlin shoots back hotly, and his frown deepens. "Just give me a few more days and I'll be fine."

"A few more days and you'll still be cutting _yourself _with the knife instead of your food!" Arthur snaps, then immediately regrets it. He leans forward and drops his face into his palms, sighing heavily. He hears Merlin set down the fork at the other end of the table.

"I am trying, you know," the warlock says quietly, and Arthur nods into his hands.

"I know. I'm just worried that my father is going to see this as an excuse to demote you again. He's been fine with the idea up to now but it really wouldn't surprise me if he pulls this on us."

Merlin doesn't respond to this, but Arthur can feel the dejection coming from him. He scrubs at his face and sits up straighter, settling his chin on his hands.

"We'll just keep working at it, right? I mean, I kept practicing magic and it eventually just clicked. I'm sure the same will happen with you."

"Not likely," Merlin mutters but he picks up the outside knife anyway, a determined expression on his face, so Arthur pretends that he didn't hear.

"This knife is used for cutting meats, both raw and cooked, and is the sharpest on the table. Once finished with, if bloodied, it should not be laid on the table beside a woman. Instead, it should be placed out of sight on the other side of the plate."

"Not bad," Arthur replies approvingly, standing up slowly and walking across the room to stand beside his advisor. "You're proving me wrong, Merlin."

The warlock merely quirks a smile at him, and looks at his goblet.

"The goblet is used for wine, and if water is required, a servant will bring it in a small tankard. Water is not to be poured into the goblets."

Arthur watches carefully as he reaches out for the goblet and then winces as he picks it up, roughly and awkwardly. He takes Merlin's hand in his own and rearranges it on the stem.

"You need to be more delicate, hard as that may be for you. You need to appear graceful in the eyes of our visitors. That won't happen if you grip it like a five-year-old."

Merlin nods, because he really is trying and he's taking it all in even if he won't remember it all in seven days' time. He's doing his best, and Arthur can't ask more of him. Merlin was patient and helpful and encouraging when he was struggling with magic (and if he's still honest, he's still not getting it completely, but he's not letting on) so Arthur's doing the same now. He's trying to, anyway.

He's not sure at what point his fingers entwined with Merlin's, but it's something that's happening more and more often and it feels natural. He pulls them away almost reluctantly, feels the familiar tingle of their magic, and moves his hand to rest on Merlin's shoulder instead. It's more neutral territory, and he can still feel the thrum through the cloth.

"I take it you've decided what you're wearing?" he asks, relieving Merlin of his cutlery duties for a few brief moments, and the other man shrugs.

"I was kind of hoping that Morgana and Gwen would help with that. They seemed quite enthusiastic when I mentioned it yesterday."

"That's because they like clothes," Arthur grumbles, and he's not entirely sure what this hint of jealousy is – at first he thinks that it's Merlin rather than him, but then realises that Merlin has no reason to be jealous and immediately feels like an idiot.

He knows that Merlin's smirking without looking.

"You get final say," the warlock offers, and he nods curtly in agreement.

"Good man," he says gruffly and stands, slamming his hand down a few times on Merlin's shoulder in a way that is definitely not affectionate and is considering what to teach him next when his fingers brush the bare skin at Merlin's neck and he feels something – something gold and warm and tangible, and he jerks his hand away and stumbles backward. Merlin looks as shocked as he feels. He _feels_ as shocked as Arthur feels, too.

"Um…" he begins, then fails, then suddenly his face clear and he blinks. "I understand court etiquette!"

Arthur says nothing, and realises that he probably looks like an idiot with his mouth hanging open and half-leaning on his bedpost. He shuts his mouth.

"What?"

"I understand it! Everything! What cutlery to use, how to dance with a lady, how to talk to a Lord, everything! Something must have, I don't know, transferred through the magic just then! I know what to do!" he exclaims, and his hands look dangerously close to flapping a little bit in excitement. "Or at least I think I do."

"Do you mean to say that you just learnt all court etiquette directly from me, via the magic?" Arthur asks shrewdly, and Merlin nods so fast that he's probably going to give himself a headache.

"I must have done!"

"So why the _hell_ didn't you do it before?!" he groans, slumping and falling backwards onto the bed and Merlin winces, his head popping into view as he peers at the Prince from the table.

"I… didn't think about it?" he offers, and Arthur just grunts. "I suppose it would have been a lot easier for both of us, wouldn't it? You could have spent your time doing more productive things…"

"Yes, I could!"

Merlin falls silent then, and Arthur knows that he can feel the fatigue and relief coming from him. He's not trying to hide it. Merlin's not easy to teach.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, standing and crossing the room to sit beside Arthur on the bed. "I should have thought about it. I should have found a way to make this easier for you."

"No, it's fine," Arthur replies with a sigh, his eyes closed, and drops an arm from over his face to his side. It lands on Merlin's hand and he doesn't move it. "I should have considered it too."

"So we're both to blame then?"

"Oh no, you're to blame," he shoots back lightly, and feels Merlin flop down beside him. "But then you knew that anyway."

"Of course. Prat."

"Idiot."

They lie in silence for a short while, and there's a contented thrumming rippling into the room that Arthur knows they're both responsible for. He smiles to himself as a thought occurs to him.

"Hah. You have to tell Morgana now. She's going to hate you."

Merlin groans, and then laughs, and it's a sound that Arthur wishes he could hear more of.

He opens his eyes and turns his head, and their eyes are shining as their gazes meet.

"You ready?"

_If I hadn't made me  
I'd be more inclined to bow  
Powers that be would have swallowed me up  
But that's more than I can allow_


	9. Interlude: Masters Of The Scene

_Masters of the Scene_

Olwen may be the wife of a nobleman, but that doesn't mean she's not above gossiping with her handmaids.

The winter solstice celebration at Camelot is an event attended by all the upper ranks of the kingdom, some families trekking for days to arrive at the castle. She and her husband have brought both their children, in the hope that Arthur will take kindly to both of them – a prospective wife and a prospective knight. She knows that it's a selfish move, but all the noblewomen are doing it these days.

They arrive two days before the banquet and spend their time in their chambers or wandering the castle and its ground, and really they're employing an awful lot of servants – Olwen wonders if perhaps they've searched the town for more people because an event like this takes so much preparation. She encounters so many servants that she stops getting annoyed when they do not address her correctly, but for all the people that she bumps into, there's only one that she actually wants to see with her own eyes.

It's not until the actual feast that she sees him though and she's shocked. He's sat beside the Prince, eyes bright and quick and amused, darting around the room and taking everything in as Arthur whispers in his ear. There's a short, sharp laugh in reply to something that the Prince says and Merlin nods his head, still surveying the tables.

Olwen's heard the stories – a peasant boy raised to manservant, then to the high position of court advisor in the space of one year.

But there's no trace of the peasant within the young man sat at the top table. His motions are smooth and graceful and he makes small talk with the surrounding guests, but always turns back to Prince Arthur on his right. Every now and then, their fingers will brush and Olwen's been watching long enough to notice the brief glow that comes from skin-on-skin contact.

She continues to watch them as she eats, close to ignoring those around her because she's just enthralled by the two young men. Frequently, one will turn to the other with no warning, a smile or a frown upon their face, as though something silent has passed between them. Olwen's heard that they use magic – both of them – and it may or may not be true; every time she looks away she sees something in the corner of her eye that could be sorcery, but as soon as she turns to them whatever they were doing has stopped.

The maids have told her that Uther dislikes Merlin, and was reluctant to promote him. If that's true, it's not obvious – he's conversing with the advisor across the Prince, who occasionally adds to whatever it is that they're talking about. They seem at ease, and every now and then the Lady Morgana will lean forward and join in as well. Olwen isn't sure about what goes on when they're in private but here, at least, they act like a well-oiled family unit.

It's something that she could be jealous of.

**

Later, after the meal and when the servants have cleared the large tables (Merlin showed his origins by nearly trying to help them before Arthur laid a hand on his arm, and he desisted), music strikes up and fills the room and for a moment Olwen thinks that finally, Merlin or Arthur is performing magic publicly – but then she spots the band hidden away in the corner, and her hopes fall.

The men stand and each reaches for a woman's hand, leading them away from the table and towards the large space that has been cleared for the after-dinner entertainment, and whilst the Prince takes Lady Morgana, Merlin holds out his hand to the nearest young woman and with a dazzling smile, he's dancing with her before the girl has time to process what is happening.

Olwen allows her husband to take her towards to dance after a brief talk with her daughter on how to ensure that Arthur asks her to dance, but even in her husband's arms, she's still watching them both. And she can watch them both, even though they're dancing with different people, because they rarely seem to be too far apart. It's almost as though they're connected somehow.

After the first dance they both leave their partners and the floor – Morgana has plenty of other men to choose from – and both head towards Olwen, weaving in between guests as though they've planned this. She briefly hopes that one of them has come to ask her daughter to dance, then looks closer, and realises that she couldn't be further from the truth.

Their hands keep brushing as they walk, golden sparks jumping between them they're so close. She looks up and sees that their eyes are glowing gold instead of blue, and as they walk past their heads are bent together, whispering to each other. She twists in her husband's grip to watch them.

Before they reach the edge of the room, Arthur glances over his shoulder quickly before flicking his hand and the door swings open silently, and then the hand moves to rest on the small of Merlin's back as the Prince ushers him through the door. It swings shut behind them, cutting off the bark of laughter that one or both of them lets out as they leave.

She feels as though some sort of spell has been broken – she's been captivated by them all evening, and suddenly all the sounds and colours in the room rush at her as though they've been blurred and muted for the past few hours. She blinks slowly, and looks at her husband. He's smiling at her.

Olwen has heard that Prince Arthur was the one to persuade the King to lift the ban on magic. She's heard that he did it for Merlin.

Of everything that she's heard from her handmaids, she knows without a doubt that this is true.

_Across the room your eyes are glowing in the dark  
And here we go again, we know the start, we know the end_


	10. The Last Generation

_The Last Generation_

They leave the banquet and go straight to Arthur's chambers – the corridors are darkened but they light the way with warm glows and whispered words. The few guards that they see ignore them – they've barely spent a minute outside each other's company in the past few weeks and people have begun to notice.

The night is drawing in and the evening air is warm as they settle down at the long table, both smiling, and talk. It's nothing specific that they talk about, but Arthur could listen to Merlin speak for hours. He often does – they sit in his chambers, in front of the fire or on the balcony, discussing magic and Camelot and Morgana and everything, tones quiet and comfortable.

Every now and then, one will share with the other a spell that he's learnt and they will practise it together, the thrum of magic between them soothing any problems that the day might have brought, and it's a better remedy than anything Gaius might prescribe. Arthur's small wounds, cuts and bruises, from training with his knights are healed by Merlin's soft touch and when Merlin is exhausted after a day of advising the court on sorcery, Arthur will wrap an arm around him as the warlock dozes and whispers tales of nonsense until he's fast asleep.

Tonight, they sit and discuss the women that Arthur has had festooned upon him during the feast – Merlin is far more amused than he should be – and the young men trying too hard be his friends. Arthur reckons that they'll be laughing about it well into the night.

Then they hear the screams.

It's quite clear that they're coming from the Great Hall and they're both on their feet and running down the corridor before the guards outside have even realised what's happening. There's shouting interspersed with the screams and shrieks, and there's real fear emanating from the Hall as they approach it as a speed. Arthur can _feel_ it, it's so strong.

They burst into the room but can hardly move for people, packed in and terrified of something or other at the head table, and Arthur curses all the guests inwardly. He needs to know what's happening. His father? Morgana?

Merlin whispers something and the Arthur nearly checks his pace as the crowds seem to slow to a halt around them, but he forces himself to keep moving because even though the guests have stopped moving, there's still movement in the centre of the room.

What he's not expecting is to see a man holding a sword to the neck of a frozen Uther, eyes frantically searching for the person that's stopped time even as Morgana shifts slightly, despite the stillness of the rest of the room. There are a few flutters of movement around them and Arthur realises that the man is not alone. He takes a breath and steps out into the space that's cleared around the head table, Merlin close by, and looks around properly.

Morgana is holding a large knife in her hand and looks quite determined to use it, though she's not sure on whom. Arthur knows that he should be surprised that she's not been frozen like the rest of the people but then he thinks of her dreams, and her feelings, then realises that he has slightly more important things to be thinking about right now.

"Who are you?" he barks, and the man takes him in, appraises him before speaking. His voice is low and Arthur can feel the magic in it.

"Someone come for vengeance," the man snarls, taking a step backwards, bumping into a guest but keeping the tip of his sword on Uther's neck. "You should back away, Arthur Pendragon. You are not involved in this."

"You're holding a sword to my father's throat. I'm automatically involved."

"Even so, you are in no position to stop me."

"Really."

He knows that it probably isn't a good idea, but his eyes flash gold anyway and the sword is wrenched from the man's grip and hurtles through the air. He catches it, and hears the rustling of sorcerers behind him. The very end of the sword has nicked Uther's skin and a trickle of blood rolls down the skin. Merlin is silent but tense.

"Leave this castle now and never come back, and you will not be hunted. Refuse, and I will kill you all," he says slowly, and the man growls, shaking his head furiously, and holds his hand out over Uther's head, and it's glowing ever so slightly.

"My father has lifted the ban on magic. You have no reason to hide now, and no reason to seek revenge. Let him go," he says slowly, acutely aware of Merlin right beside him, magic simmering beneath the surface. He's ready. They both are

"Your father killed many of our people," the man sneers, and Arthur wonders again how he managed to keep hidden for the past few hours. Surely he or Merlin should have been able to feel him.

"But he is attempting to make amends."

"It's too late for that."

It's not Arthur this time but Merlin who uses the magic, though he feels the warmth as though it had been him anyway. A dagger hurtles across the room from one of the frozen guards, and there's a shout from one of the man's accomplices – he ducks and the dagger hits the wall harmlessly behind him. In the movement, his shirt slips open and Merlin's suddenly pressing close to his side, lips by his ear.

"That pattern, on his chest – he's a druid. Mordred had the same markings."

Arthur looks, and realises that his advisor is right, and frowns. They returned the child to his people – they should be thanking him, not attempting to kill his father. He hopes that his father can't hear what he's about to say, because it will surely end badly for himself and Merlin otherwise.

"We returned Mordred to you, safe and well. And this is how you repay us?"

The druid blinks a few times, clearly startled that Arthur knows what he is, but it doesn't faze him. If anything, his hand glows brighter, but it's a dark green colour, nothing like Merlin's warm familiar gold, and it's making him uneasy.

"Your father ordered the execution of one of ours. You brought one of ours back to us. This is our repayment – your father will be executed himself. And we will return you to your people, safe and well."

Arthur briefly wonders what he even means, but then there's a flurry of movement within the crowd as many more druids than he's estimated press forward, hands raised and sparks flying, and then he's shouting in unison with Merlin and there's a shimmering shield between them and the other sorcerers. The druid's eyes narrow.

"You are not without considerable magic yourself," he spits, and looks around the room. Morgana is still clutching the knife, and Arthur feels a rush of relief that she's had the sense to stay still and unnoticeable throughout this. She's staring at him though, pleading him with her eyes to not do something stupid. Through the rippling shield, it looks as though she's crying.

"This is your last chance," Merlin says, speaking properly for the first time, and his voice is steady and his eyes are glowing. "Leave this place, leave Arthur alone, and we will not come after you."

"You're in no position to be issuing orders, little advisor."

"My name is Emrys."

And Arthur knows that he's wearing exactly the same expression as the druid and in any other circumstance he would be amused, but this really isn't the time. The other druids are restless outside the shield as he stares at Merlin, wondering what he's talking about.

"Then you will be spared."

"I will not allow you to kill Uther."

"Then you will not be spared."

Then the druid raises his other hand, away from Uther, and snarls out unfamiliar words full of hatred and vengeance, and the room starts to shake, and at the same time Merlin's shouting incantations that feel harsh and unwelcoming to Arthur in a way that Merlin has never been before. This is an apocalyptic, righteously furious Merlin, one that should never exist. Arthur knows that he's the cause of this, and it scares him slightly.

There's a beat of silence as both sorcerers stop their yelling, then with a sudden, resounding boom, the magic explodes in the room and the shield surrounding them is ripped apart. Arthur reaches for Merlin as he's thrown off his feet and his advisor falls with him.

There's a roaring in his ears, burning flesh in his nose, blood in his mouth, blinding light in his eyes and Merlin in his hands.

Then there is nothing.

_And I wonder when we are ever going to change  
Living under the fear, till nothing else remains_


	11. The Best Of You

Thank you to those who pointed out that I had accidentally uploaded part 10 in lieu or part 9 - it's sorted now and everything's in the correct order.

* * *

_The Best of You_

Arthur wakes to a low, throbbing pain at the front of his head and a cold emptiness that he's never felt before. He whimpers slightly, a quiet noise that he hopes nobody hears but he knows that Merlin will. Merlin knows exactly what he's feeling.

But he can't feel Merlin.

He forces his eyes open despite his body's protests and immediately regrets it – the light shining in through his windows is bright and harsh, and then there's warm hands on his arms and neck and soothing voices that he can't quite make out.

"What happened?" he whispers, because his throat hurts even though he can't remember damaging it, and finally recognises the touches on his face.

"Try and stay still," murmurs his advisor, but he can't see him because his eyes are squeezed shut again. "You took a bad blow to the head."

"My father? Is he alive?"

Merlin is silent for a beat too long and Arthur curses that for whatever reason, he can't sense what the warlock is feeling. His eyes crack open and he looks up, and distress wells up within him. Merlin's face is bruised and battered and there's a long cut from his temple to his mouth. His eyes are gold.

"Merlin, tell me what happened."

The other man seems to consider refusing his request but then his face crumples and he clambers up onto the bed beside Arthur, helping him sit up. The Prince's body is aching, a bone-deep ache that he usually only encounters after a long day training.

"You were knocked out by the spell that I used against the druid. And without the shield, you would have been killed – so I fought them, properly. Spells and death and destruction, ones that would burn your tongue if you'd tried. I was drawing on your strength – but you were connected to the magic still. You know what's been happening; we can feel it when the other one uses magic. This was no different."

Arthur's hand goes to Merlin's face as his advisor shudders to a halt in his recounting, inspecting the gash. It looks as though it's been healing for several days now. He realises that Merlin is shivering and his hand drops.

"Go on," he says roughly, staring past Merlin and out of the window. It's started to rain.

"I used a spell that I never should have. It's one that I've only ever read about – I didn't even know if it would work. It obliterated every druid in the room. It was a strong spell, too strong. I should have known better."

"What are you not telling me?"

Even though he can't get a grip on Merlin's emotions, he knows that something's wrong. He's always known when something is wrong with Merlin, but for the first few months, he had dismissed it. He's been wishing for a while now that he hadn't.

"I took your magic from you."

And then Arthur understands the emptiness, the chilling blank space where Merlin should be inside him, souls alongside each other. Now he knows what's missing, it's as though a black hole has opened up within him, drawing him in. He knows without a doubt that he's been at peace these past few months and now it's all being ripped out from beneath him, and his world is going to crumble. Then he feels Merlin's hand on his arm and realises that he's forgotten to breathe. His head is spinning.

"Why?" he chokes, unable to say much more because this is too much to deal with. He feels alone. He feels _wrong_.

"My magic was too much of a strain for you – it was too powerful. Your body couldn't handle it, it was never designed to, and so I had to take it away from you. It would have killed you," Merlin admits quietly, and Arthur has no idea what emotions are running through the warlock. He never will again.

"But you can put it back? You can put it back, Merlin, can't you?" he asks, and he knows that he sounds desperate right now, but he can imagine few things worse than living without Merlin connected to him by magic. It's unthinkable.

"No. I don't know if you could take it, and even then, I wouldn't know how."

Arthur has nothing to say to that. He only got his gift in the first place because Merlin _died_ and of course he never wants that to happen again, ever. So there is no way to get his magic back, and if Merlin has no ideas, then there really is no hope. This is how he's going to be again. Cold and empty and alone. His father will be glad at least – and there, in his selfishness, he's forgotten to ask about Uther and Morgana.

"Tell me that my father is alive and well, Merlin. And Morgana, too, and everyone else."

"They're both OK. Your father is in shock, but that's to be expected. Morgana is only talking to Gwen but she's fine. A few guests were caught in the crossfire."

They're simple statements, blunt and unforgiving. Arthur winces. This isn't how Merlin is supposed to be. He shifts on the bed and his hand brushes his advisor's but there's no flood of warmth, no spark of magic, and his heart sinks.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asks, because the cuts on Merlin's hands aren't ones that he recognises but they're not fresh, either. He would have noticed them before the banquet – he always does.

"Three days. Your body was worn completely worn out. I'm sorry."

Arthur blinks, and then turns his head sharply to look at Merlin. The rain is pounding down outside, making it darker than it should be, and Arthur only just notices the shadows beneath the warlock's golden eyes.

"This isn't your fault, Merlin," he says slowly, and the other man shrugs, staring at where he's twisting the bed sheets in his hands.

"It is, though. I had to take your magic because I didn't stop and think about the consequences of what I was doing."

"You did the right thing. We probably would have all been killed."

"Even so."

"_Merlin_."

Arthur reaches out and grabs his hands, which are wrenching at the cloth violently, and holds them still. His skin is warm, but not magic-warm. Arthur pushes down a pang of despair.

"You saved my life, again. I'm always going to be in your debt. And now, so are my father, and Morgana, and most of the people in Camelot."

"I could have killed you."

Arthur smiles, a slow smile, and settles back against the headboard.

"You're always trying to protect me," he says wryly, watching the rain pour down. "And you're always succeeding. But you're going to mess up every now and then, Merlin. You're only human."

"I can't afford to mess up though. I can't let you die."

"Then just promise me that you'll not put yourself in danger for me. I'm not worth dying for."

He looks over at Merlin, and feels something clench around his heart because the look in his advisor's eyes can't be mistaken for anything else. It makes him feel unworthy.

"You are. I've proven that. I'd do it again in a heartbeat, and I'm making no such promise."

Arthur sighs, because he knows that he's not going to get anywhere with this. He's quite happy now to just sleep, because apparently Merlin was right about his body being worn out – but it seems as though his advisor isn't quite finished.

"I can tell you one thing though. I love you more than anything else in this world and no matter what, I will stay by your side. I don't care if you have no magic. I'm not going to leave you."

Arthur nods slowly, taking in Merlin's determined expression, and his eyes begin to drift close. He's tired. They're pressed together, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip and his head drops sideways to land gently on Merlin's shoulder, and he thinks he feels his advisor turn and press his lips to his hair. Their hands are twined together between their bodies, and the Prince is content. He doesn't need magic. He just needs Merlin.

**

Arthur wakes slowly in the morning, warm and content, and pushes his face into Merlin's hair before drifting back to sleep.

Somewhere deep within him, a spark flares and begins to glow gold.

_Has someone taken your faith?  
It's real, the pain you feel  
The life, the love you'd die to heal  
The hope that starts the broken hearts_

_end._

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* * *

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Thanks for reading, keep an eye out for the sequel being posted sometime in the next week._  
_


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